


Sweet Ass and Hella Titties

by rocknrollalien



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Humanstuck, M/M, Stripper AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocknrollalien/pseuds/rocknrollalien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose, Aradia, Damara, Porrim, Nepeta, Jake, Tavros, Dirk, and Rufioh are strippers in a club owned by Bro Strider.</p><p>Each chapter is from the point of view of one of the characters, including chapters from the point of view  of the bartenders (Roxy and Latula), certain returning customers (Eridan, Dave, and Feferi to name a choice few), the waiters and waitresses (Jane, Terezi, and Horuss), and even the bouncers (Equius and Meenah). Readers will have a choice to request certain pairings or coincidental meetings of characters!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Priceless

**Rose**

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=b9a53)

On the first night I worked, I didn’t dance for anyone I knew. I danced on top of a table surrounded by a booth, and I was nervous that the gentleman who sat before me would set their drinks at my feet, and I would blunder. I feared I’d be fired on my first night.

This did not happen. My patrons knew where to put their drinks, and where not to put their hands. They knew where to place the fold of bills before they left. They probably were more in control of the situation than I was. This made me very uncomfortable. I was told by the man who preferred to be called Bro that the fantasy of control held by the clientele was just that—a fantasy, and that I needed to maintain it as such.

The second night I danced, I gained my control back. A young man slunk into the club, clearly well endowed with money. He had a vaguely panicked look of indifference, and I was under the impression that he was too impatient to properly practise the expression in a mirror before arriving. I heard Terezi’s giggle outside of my booth before he slid in.

She poked her head in, and winked one of her blind eyes at me.

“I found a lost puppy, and I think you’re his type,” she said, and stuck out her tongue, giggling. Her tongue was tinted red, and I knew she’d been at the lollipops again. It was her lust for sexy tasty treats and her tendency to lick them lovingly that had saved her job again and again. Otherwise, her tendency to spill trays of liquor on customers just for the chance to taste them would have had her fired long before I came to work at the club.

She left us, and I surveyed him for a moment. He had a streak of purple through black hair, and large, thick framed glasses. He wore a scarf in addition to the standard dress code suit, and he looked pitifully out of place. While I stalled in my dance, to look at him, a sneer crept across his face.

“Fuckin fantastic. She gave me the moron stripper as a joke, didn’t she? I call bullshit, I can’t believve this. Wway to fuck me ovver, thanks,” she snarled.

I was torn momentarily between wanting to slap him for his misbehaviour, or to laugh at his silly accent. Instead, I started dancing. I’m not as flexible as Damara, nor as well endowed as Aradia, but I could hold my own against the Megido girls based on pure style. They were lazy in their technique, trusting on their bodies alone to garner tips. I however, was a genius at choreography, or so I liked to think.

“You didn’t get the moron stripper, in case you were curious,” I murmured as I twirled and jiggled artistically. “You got the therapist one. Perhaps she sent you to me because you’re clearly crippled with a superiority complex due to your evident inherited wealth, despite the nagging inferiority that comes with never being able to hold on to a date for long enough to actually get laid.” 

True, this type of banter wasn’t the way to get tips, but it was a way to make me feel good about myself. Priceless.

He bristled, and opened his mouth to spew forth some profane garbage, and I did as my job title entailed. I ground against the pole while I occupied my hands with unbuttoning my tiny, custom fit tweed jacket that came right to my belly button before dying a death due to the hypersexualisation of librarians and teachers. It slid off my shoulders, leaving me in the itsy pleated skirt and a lacey purple bra. His train of thought ended before it left the station.

I kicked into the air, swinging around the pole, and was granted some enjoyment in my work. Dancing was one thing, and insulting rude boys was one thing, but doing both simultaneously was enough to warrant this career choice.

As I settled into a rhythm, he went to open his mouth again, and this time I couldn’t disrobe fast enough to halt him.

“You’re just an ugly slut wwhat the fuck do I care about wwhat you think,” he half spat and half grumbled.

I dropped to my hands and knees on the table, and crawled towards him, my face level with his. My eyes half lidded and my lips partially parted, I must have looked the picture of blind lust. I caressed his face, and gently bid him to look at me.

“You really oughtn’t care what an ugly slut like me has to say. Unfortunately for poor little rich boys like you, you do care. You care passionately. I can tell because you weren’t at all aroused until I started insulting you. Do you want to know why you like it so badly?” My words came out breathy and soft. Based on this performance, I could have won an Oscar. Suck on it Leonardo. “Because you’re a worthless piece of shit,” I finished, practically purring.

He tried to snatch at my wrist, probably in an attempt to pull me to him and either whisper insults or smash his face into mine. However, one doesn’t get to be a stripper at a club like this by being slow. I pulled away, and went back to my dancing. When my pretty lacey bra dropped to the table, I heard him wheeze. I closed my eyes, then, and did not open them again until he had left.

I didn’t speak to him again that night, though he tried to provoke me. He would ask me questions, insult me, insult the club, tell me if I spoke to him he’d pay me extra, and beg for me to acknowledge him. My smile and my body were enough reward for him, I thought. Eventually my skirt dropped as well, and I heard him make a small groan. 

To be honest, I never knew exactly when he left, because but for the soft sounds of defeat he’d make every time an article of clothing left my body, he was silent after the groan. When I next opened my eyes, he was gone, and there was a large fold of money. I was too embarrassed to ask anyone when he’d left, for fear of learning I’d been dancing for no one for longer than is entirely decent. Still, I made over three hundred dollars off of that petulant child.

The money was nice, but the complete control I had over him was…well, Priceless.


	2. Crash and Blush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who has two thumbs and likes destruction? This gal!

**Aradia**

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=x59jk1)

The longest standing employee of the club was probably Porrim. She was a little older than us, and a little sexier than most of us, and she fulfilled so many fantasies that she was the most requested for private audiences in the entire history of our dear little club. She was for the secret Punk Rockers, she was for those who craved mothering simultaneous with sex, she was for the witty and the wise.

But Mama Porrim never got the public stage. Not once. She was private, sultry, and seductive, but she was only ever watched by a maximum of six eyes.

The center stage was for me. Technically, it was for us, my sister and I, but it was me that made the act great enough for the eyes of every horny affluent gentleman in the city. It took a lot to drag me away from our twin devil-angel-devil act to do a private audience.

Once upon a time, the thing that had driven Damara to doing a solo act had been a thrifty young lady named Vriska. She’d complained. I wouldn’t cooperate with her and her band of miscreants, because I didn’t want my valuable body fondled or my contract to be terminated. Guess who has two thumbs and got fired because of a fake complaint? This gal.

I bounced around other clubs for a while, but my general apathy towards lap dances and dancing on tables for small groups really killed it for me. I generally got fired, and a few managers said I was creepy. They dressed me up in ridiculous costumes—French girl, robot, and a few other stupid ones—and expected me to bring in profits like they’d never seen. Contrary to popular belief, big tits do not in fact make the world go round.

Of course, I came back. Damara’s downward spiral into drugs and Japanese culture had my favourite big Bro call me back to work, touchy mobsters be damned. And I was back at my act, in a futile attempt to rescue my sister from damnation and destruction. Much can be said about me, but if someone tells you that I don’t get a kick out of watching someone crash and burn, they’re lying to you.

Another time I got whisked away from my act was for a much better reason. Kid Strider, also known as David, also known as “That little shit who wears sunglasses in a dark room,” also known as “The Boss’s son,” was a regular at the club. He was a little scruffy, and probably under age to be there, but he was funny. He’d corner me on break and make me snort water out of my nose. He’d corner me after my shift and rap at me with the most neutral expression possible. He was proud of the fact that he could make me, the least giggly girl in the club, laugh.

He was always asking me for a lap dance, without my sister’s glassy stare to accompany it. I think he also wanted to avoid his ass getting grabbed while she spoke in broken Japanese, but I guess everyone has their own strange preferences.

Finally, when he unrolled a wad of cash so big I think I heard Meenah crying at the door, I agreed to go with him into a curtained room. Since this was so rare an occurrence for me, I hadn’t been outfitted with my own room with a door and my stage name on it, but instead had to retire into an enclave shielded from the club by a bead curtain, which was good enough for me.

Each room is outfitted with a couch, a table, and a small platform with a pole. The dancers who specialize in this treatment always decorated their rooms to fit their interests. Nepeta’s is covered in cutesie stuffed animals and tiger print, Porrim’s is indicative of the classy lady she is, Tavros has a clear Spaniard thing going on in there, and Rufioh has a nice Peter Pan theme. The room I lead Dave too was a touch blander than those, but perfectly suitable for the service I was to provide.

I pushed him onto the couch, and he sat as any cocky teenager does when pushed onto a couch by a pretty lady wearing an angel costume over a devil costume over absolutely nothing—legs splayed, back slouched. Luckily, this happened to be prime lap dance receiving pose.

I stood between his knees, tipped forward just a little so that I could easily rub at his thighs with my hands. I did so, giving the briefest of all massages, before I started by work. I moved my hands around my body, cupping and massaging my breasts, running my hands down my chest and belly and stopping just before he could see me dip my hands into my panties. I turned and let him watch me fondle my ass. I slowly rid myself of the angel get up, to reveal the black and red corset and little black thong that more befit a little demon.

Free of my white nighty, I went onto step dos of my routine. I put my hands on his shoulders, and felt him shake a bit. If I’d been his age, I would’ve felt flattered that he was so nervous and hot and bothered. Fortunately, I had been in a position the past two years to see grown men quiver at the lick of my lips. My ego was already huge.

My hips twitched into motion, as if by their own volition. They twitched back and forth to the music, eventually resolving into a full sway, forming into a figure eight between his legs. I saw his cool guy façade tremble and fall from his face, being replaced by the expression of a flustered boy, panting and lustful. Oh, the wonders my hips could accomplish with a bit of gyration.

I turned, without warning, and parked my butt right above his crotch. I knew he wouldn’t be able to take much more, but this was my favourite part, and I wasn’t about to earn that wad of cash without accomplishing it. I moved my hips again, nearly coming into contact with the hard-pressed fabric of his jeans with the circles I formed. I switched to back and forth motions, and I heard him make a small, panicky sound that was in the family of being a moan.

From outside the bead curtain, I heard a question: “Hey, whereth Aradiia?” and an answer: “She’s in there.”

And that’s when my boyfriend walked in on me virtually riding a young man’s dick, carrying the sack lunch I’d forgotten at home. His eyes widened, and he took a step backwards, getting tangled in the curtain.

“Thiit. Thorry AA, II wath under the imprethion you were on break,” he said, once he’d realised he was caught in a net of beads.

I straightened, and miraculously failed to laugh at the situation. I took a few steps towards Sollux, kissed him on the cheek, and took my lunch.

“Thanks babe,” I said, and turned back to Dave, who was a blushing mess of fogged up glasses and a suddenly embarrassing erection.

He dropped the money he’d promised on the table, and darted out past Sollux. We both began to laugh.

“Tho am II allowed to beat hiim up or do we jutht not talk about that at diinner tonight?” he asked as I untangled him from the curtain.

“You can do either if you want. But you have to admit that that was perfection incarnate, right?”

“You’re jutht thayiing that because you love theeiing people iin terriible thiituatiionth.”


	3. Chum, Friend, Buddy, Pal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per request by Arianasfics! <3

**Jake**

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=280mued)

Admittedly, being a male exotic dancer in a female exotic dancer dominated field of work is no blockbuster action movie. But no one will tell you that it isn’t a humdinger of a unique adventure! And, with my affinity for short pants, the dress code is actually quite pleasurable!

It certainly helps that I’m one of the few gentleman at our quaint little place of work that gets ordered for house calls! None of the ladies get to dress up like a pizza man in charming plastic red shorts and knock on a strangers’ door for money! I take pride in my work, and my ability to be versatile! Say you put a pole in front of me! I can dance on that! Take it away, you say, sir? You bet your sweet voluptuous behind I can continue to dance!

My partner in these versatile house calls is my best friend and confidante, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. He began as a humble lighting and music technician working for his eldest brother in our lovely workplace, but at my subtle goading, he rose to being a full class exotic dancer! He also has the privilege of not being forced to wear long pants by the constraints of society!

The only difficulty with having my dearest friend Dirk as my partner in figurative crime and literal shenanigans is the rather intense level of intimacy that comes with our shows. A classy gentleman like me could never be caught thinking of such extravagant measures of affection in front of a group of people! Yet there we always end up, my head on the floor, his crotch bristling against mine, on a stage in a dark room!

After such a performance, with our shorts laden with cash and the blood a bit sloshy in my head due to the extended period of time remaining in a headstand, it occasionally became difficult to separate from theater relationship and personal relationships. Giddy with money and stage adrenaline, it was not uncommon for one of us to give a loving slap to the behind or a playful peck on the cheek. As my Grandmother was oh so fond of saying, “Boys will frequently be boys, unless they happen to be being girls, which happens sometimes!” Grandma was so wise!

 

Apparently, Dirk thought that the saying extended into a performance, and although I’m not sure of the validity of that claim, it proved to certainly be profitable for the both of us! Allow me to tell you the tale!

It was a stage performance at the club, in our small annex reserved for the ladies who aren’t overly fond of the sight of a woman’s breasts. Dirk could always quite relate with them, which was helpful, I suppose! One of my favourite parts of the act was with the two of use facing each other on either side of our handy dandy dance-pole, simultaneously grinding up against it. Things were pretty hot and heavy, and I was preparing to do my classic rough and tumble roll into his arms so he could flip me upside down for the finale of our show, when he caught me by my shoulders, and kissed me full on the lips.

Now listen here, sir or madam, I don’t want you getting any improper ideas about me and my good pal’s relationship! Don’t raise your eyebrow like that; I know what you’re thinking! It was a kiss, simple as that, based on the heat of the moment! The fact that we both momentarily abandoned our performance in order to clasp each other tightly and maintain the kiss for a few moments, letting out small noises of enjoyment as his tongue passed between my lips and his hands touched my hips was entirely due to the head rush that comes from an adventure such as being an exotic dancer!

The boner that I felt between his legs was surely a byproduct of the adrenaline, and the hand I felt down the back of my shorts was obviously an accident! Put those eyebrows back in their proper position! This peculiar display of showmanship in the name of our field of work may have been unorthodox, but no one can deny the effectiveness of an on stage smooch and grope when greeted with the sight of a full room of women emptying their wallets!

See, after all, Dirk was just proving himself a good friend by pressing so tightly against me! His impassioned embraces were purely an outlet for the women to gain pleasure from, so as to make my life easier in the form of affluence! Friendship at its finest, old chum, indeed!


	4. Affection Erection

**Nepeta**

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=34i5sb5)

Fur the longest time, I purrlieved that Equius was going to be my only furend at the strip cub. I’d come to work fur money and fur a boost in self confidence, and I thought I’d end up lonely and out of luck despite my best effurts. I’d dance, and be quite pleased with myself while I was dancing, and then I’d stop dancing, and be quite upset with myself for having danced. It was a vicious cycle, and Eq’s protesting from his purrsition as a bouncer at the door that my actions were fur too lewd to befit my nature didn’t help.

Dejected from my purr decisions in life, I’d chosen to sit at the bar, near the nice girl who also liked to dress up like a kitty as she mixed drinks for the gentleman callers of the cub. When I slid into my chair, carefully purrsitioning myself to avoid tangling my tail on anything, she winked her purretty pink eyes at me and made a kitty noise.

“You never drop by here, cute butt! You want a drink or do you just wanna yowl at each other and pretend we’re in heat?” she asked of me, smiling and making kitty paws at me.

I giggled, and said, “Don’t you mean purrtend?” with a smile. 

Her hands flew to her face in astonishment. “Omg. No you don’t even understand how fucking fabulous that is. Purrtend. I love you. Purrtend. Omg. I’m writing that one down.”

“I’m full of ‘em,” I said, and purrtended to purr happawly. “What’s your name, purretty lady?”

“Oh my god just keep going forever you’re fuckin’ precious! My name is Roxy!” she squealed happawly. She hopped up onto the counter and whispered in my ear, “You see that cutie with the Mohawk and no clothes on? You should let me give him a free drink and tell him you paid for it because no pressure here but that’d be hella cute and if you don’t then I’m stealin’ all your puns without credit.”

I was furankly a tiny bit stunned! I peeked along the bar and saw the boy she’d pointed out fur me, and was able to surmise that he worked at this establishment. He was wearing little enough clothes, to be sure! He shyly glanced ofur at us with big brown eyes, and just from that tiny bit of eye contact, he started blushing and looked quickly away. I looked back at Roxy, and gave her a nod of appurroval.

Sure enough, she sidled over to the boy and slid him a drink. He looked back ofur at me, his cheeks still bright with his embarrassment, and I felt obligated to move to the seat next to his. Scantily clad as we both were, I could easily understand his purroblem.

“Hello,” he began, his voice breaking on the first word. His blush grew brighter, and he only got more nervous as he tried to continue. “Thank you. I mean, for the drink, not just for sitting by me. And also thank you for sitting by me, even though that’s probably, not like, you know, a big deal or anything for you to sit here,” he stammered out, purractically shaking in his boots. Of course he wasn’t wearing actual boots, but you get the idea.

Aware that Roxy was watching us, I butted my head against his arm playfully, and smiled at him.

“You’re welcome,” I purred at him, and linked my arm in his.

Roxy leaned over and whispered loudly in his ear, “Introduce yourself and I’ll pour her a drink on your behalf don’t you kids know how to flirt jesus fuckin’ Christ I’m doing all the hard work here.”

I giggled again, and then tried to purrtend innocently that I hadn’t heard.

“I’m uh Tavros, sorry,” he said, keeping his eyes locked ahead.

I simply couldn’t understand how someone so cute could be so lacking in confidence! Fur that matter, how could someone so lacking in confidence could be in the purrformance industry. Roxy passed me the drink she’d made in Tafuros’s name, and I took a sip, batting my eyelashes playfully at the nervous boy with a Mohawk.

“I’m Nepeta, but my stage name is Pussy Cat,” I told him.

“My uh stage name is Don Quixote, which I think is actually, pretty cool,” he stumbled out, and managed a smile.

I noticed, when he looked at me or Roxy, he always kept his eyes purrcisely on our faces, but if they happened to wander downward, his blush deepened expawnentioally and he forced himself to look back at our faces. Feeling a little emboldened by the sip of alcohol, I dared to press a quick kiss on his cheek, and hastily retreated into my drink again, giggling.

“Aaah,” Tafuros said, clearly uncomfortable. He said ‘Thank you’ about a thousand times before dashing away, and I was forced to sit pawkwardly alone, furry confused.

“What just happawned to me?” I asked Roxy, who was snorting.

“Omfg he just realised how hard it is to hide an affection erection in stripper clothes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to comment with a pairing you'd like! I'll try to comply as quickly as humanly able <3


	5. Sweet Dreams are Made of These

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by Goldenfire!

**Kanaya**

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=6nqzd5)

Once, I dreamt of being a fashion designer for the classiest ladies in all of New York. Once, I dreamt of joining the most affluent and successful mob in the city, just to see if I could. Once, I dreamt of rising through the ranks and becoming Vriska’s right hand woman. Thrice, my dreams came true.

I began spending my time with Vriska, well dressed, well fed, and well accounted for in all the important circles. I would accompany her on field trips with clients and allies, taking them to hit up the town, and providing my services as a date and a body guard in one fell swoop. My only regret was that I couldn’t bring my favoured chainsaw from when I was a child for when dirty work had to be accomplished. It simply wasn’t finessed enough for my duties.

Her favourite place to take our clients on holiday was the Strider place. There had been so many favours exchanged between my boss and the man who liked to be called Bro that there was no way to remember who owed who anymore. We had a table reserved, large enough to fit a small party of allies, or the entirety of the important people in the gang. Vriska would have a few girls parade past the table, and have our client or ally take his or her pick. When it was just Vriska and I, she invariably chose Don Quixote.

Once, I dreamt of my boss letting me choose a girl for an indecisive client. Once again, my dream came true.

I’d pictured the moment in my head a thousand times, as she’d waltzed past our group on display or on the way to the bar to chat with her sister. I pictured gently touching her arm, and beckoning her over to the table. I pictured her climbing onto the table top, and falling in love with me before the dance was through. It was a pleasant fantasy, and just once, Vriska allowed it.

It didn’t go exactly as I had planned.

Vriska snapped her fingers sharply, calling the girl over. The blonde eyed her coldly, and I was quietly impressed that a girl in a shrunken school girl outfit could manage such an air of superiority over the most successful mob leader in the city. Vriska pointed at me, and pointed at the table, and left a sheaf of cash in the seat before she wandered off to get a lap dance from her boy Don Quixote. Weeks ago, I’d have been jealous that she preferred his company over mine. Instead, I was a little thrilled to be getting alone time with such a girl.

The blonde slid onto the table, and stood before me, graceful as a sphinx. She looked down at me, and my heart pounded a little too loudly for my usual preference. I’d never felt so intimidated by a burlesque dancer, and I was able to understand why this girl had never been called over for the entertainment of a client. She’d scare a weaker woman to death.

I leaned forward, attempting the picture of confidence, setting my elbows on the surface of the table-cum-stage.

“What is your name?” I asked, and laid in wait for a silly stripper name. Bubblegum, or Candy, or Princess. 

“My name is Rose. And you’re Kanaya Maryam, Vriska Serket’s right hand woman. I’ve been watching you.” She said it without any inflection to indicate her emotions about the matter, instead focusing on her gyration and grinding on the pole.

“I’ve been watching you, too,” I told her, a trifle shakily. To be fair, it was quite difficult to concentrate on complete thoughts, watching her pirouette around the pole.

She shed her jacket, and her skirt not long after that, leaving me to look at her purple lingerie.

“I’ve been watching you watching me,” she murmured when she swung down towards my face. 

Before I could cognate a logical reply, she spun away from me, and continued her dance. My breath caught in my throat as I watched her body move, and she became more and more naked. Part of me felt guilty for treating this clearly intelligent girl as an object of desire, but the rest of me was fairly busy dealing with the turmoil of desire that had awoken inside of me due to this clearly intelligent girl.

When she was naked but for her sensible flats and pretty purple thong, and sat at the edge of the table, facing me. She was nearly in my lap, and I was so flustered I wasn’t sure whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. I wanted very much to kiss her, to lick her, to bite her, and to make her feel the incredible lust I felt for her. Instead, I sat, and looked up at her with confused eyes.

“Are you finished?” I asked.

“Mm, no. Not yet, I don’t think, anyway. I just wanted to get a good look at you,” she told me, and reached out to gently touch my face.

I leaned into the touch, and clasped her hand to my face, feeling her soft hands.

“You can come away with me, you know. If you wanted to. I have more than enough money and you wouldn’t have to worry about men touching you anymore than any woman has to,” I said, as an impulse. 

She smiled, and broke free of my grasp, standing up once again. “Maybe some day, if you get me drunk enough.” The room was dark, and I couldn’t be absolutely sure, but I believe she winked one of her big purple eyes then, and I was steadfastedly in love with a stripper at that moment.

A new dream awoke in me then. I dreamt of having a beautiful girl fall in love with me. Perhaps, one day, this dream would come true as the others had before it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, and thank you for reading! Unfortunately, I recently managed to get a concussion, and it's actually dangerous for me to do too much heavy thinking! Although this probably doesn't count as heavy reading material, it takes a good bit of cognition to write out, and it won't be until June that I can resume writing. Keep requesting pairings and scenarios, and I'll make note of them! It just might be a while before you see your otp in writing. Apologies!


End file.
